


sugarcoat

by Moransroar



Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: Ambiguous/Open Ending, Anal Fisting, Anal Gaping, Anal Play, Betrayal, Branding, Crying, Dark Character, Dark Tony Stark, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Drugged Peter Parker, Hurt Peter Parker, M/M, Non-Consensual Body Modification, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Object Insertion, Permanent Injury, Rape/Non-con Elements, Sexual Abuse, Sexual Violence, Stuffing, Tony Stark Does What He Wants, Unconsciousness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-14
Updated: 2020-06-17
Packaged: 2021-03-03 18:38:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,251
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24720181
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Moransroar/pseuds/Moransroar
Summary: Tony has been offering Peter candies every time they work together in the workshop. Peter always sticks them into his mouth without hesitation, and one day that blind trust proves to be a major character flaw when suddenly one of the mints makes him feel woozy.
Relationships: Peter Parker/Tony Stark
Comments: 18
Kudos: 326
Collections: Starker Festivals Events





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Seriously heed the tags on this one. Don't say I didn't warn you.  
> This fic was written for the Starker Summer Bingo going on on Tumblr. With this fic, I'm filling my prompts non-con, object insertion, and body modification in that order.  
> Enjoy!

“Mint?”

“Yes please!”

Peter reached out a hand blindly, palm up, and waited for Tony to drop one of the little candies into the palm of his hand. Once he did, Peter popped it into his mouth with his eyes still on the hologram displayed in front of him.

They had been working on another one of their projects together, and occasionally Tony would offer Peter a mint.

He had a habit of doing that. Every time Peter was particularly engrossed in whatever they were working on, Tony would pop in just outside of his direct line of sight, and offer him a candy. And while Peter didn’t have a particularly prominent sweet tooth, he did like being able to chew or suck on something while his brain was working a thousand miles a minute.

Sometimes Tony would pass him a gummy worm, or a hardboiled sweet, or a mint, and Peter had developed the habit of reaching out, taking it, and dumping it onto his tongue without a second thought.

He didn’t think about what he was putting into his mouth until the flavor hit most of the time. He trusted Tony to give him something he would like.

This time, it was a smooth, round candy that seemed to dissolve on his tongue. Almost like a sweetart, but a little mealy. It wasn’t like Tony to buy anything off-brand, but Peter figured that maybe he’d just stumbled across something new. After all, Tony did like surprising him with new sweets every now and then.

Hell, one time Mr. Stark had put a coin on his hand and watched how Peter had blindly launched it past his lips, only to realize what he’d just almost consumed. Tony had slapped him on the back and told him to be careful in trusting him, because he’d never know what would end up on the palm of his hand next.

But Peter knew that if there was anyone he could trust with anything, however big or small, it was tony.

He might have had to reconsider that, later.

When the candy had dissolved, Peter still had his eyes glued to the virtual blueprints in front of him, making changes as he went. He took a sip of water. The sweetart had left his mouth a little bit dry.

Peter noticed Tony’s eyes on him after a minute or so. He looked up, and rose a brow at him. Only then did he notice that his vision was swimming, just a touch.

“Is everything okay, Pete?” Tony asked, “You’re swaying.”

Peter looked down at himself, and realized that’s why the world felt like it was tilting. His body was moving on its own accord, limbs going weaker and refusing to listen to what his brain was telling them to do. He was getting dizzier by the second, and although he’d been about to reply to Tony to say that everything was fine, it was dawning on him that he wasn’t, in fact, as fine as he had initially thought.

From the corner of his eye, he could see Tony start to stand, and he came to his side. His vision was growing steadily blurrier as it became harder and harder to focus on what he was seeing, but he could have sworn that Tony’s expression was blank. And the way he walked toward him…so calmly, so patiently. The man put a hand into his hair but it did little to help him find his balance again.

“Relax, kid,” Peter could hear Tony say, even if it sounded strangely far away, “You’re fighting it. Stop fighting it. You won’t win.”

Peter blinked harder, but his eyes kept drooping and threatening to stay shut every time he closed them. He fought to stay awake, but it was a lost cause from the beginning.

Before he lost consciousness, a thousand thoughts ran through his head. He couldn’t fathom why Tony was so calm about it, why he wasn’t calling for help, why he wasn’t trying to keep Peter upright even though he noticed he was slipping from his perch on the stool and onto the cool floor in the workshop. A terrifying thought occurred that maybe this was meant to happen. Maybe Tony wanted him unconscious, for whatever reason.

…Maybe it was the candy.

The last thing he saw before his eyes slipped shut and refused to open again, was Tony’s neatly polished shoes where he’d fallen at the man’s feet, and he could have sworn that the older man let out a satisfied noise, and told FRIDAY to lock the place up.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter fills the prompt "object insertion". Hope you enjoy!

Peter woke up groggy and sore. It took a while for him to realize what parts of his body exactly were hurting, and why he felt the way he did, why his head was pounding and his limbs were aching and his belly felt a way it never had before.

He lifted his head where it hung heavily, and tried to look through the curtain of hair in front of his face. He wanted to wipe it away and comb it back into place again but he realized that his hands were tied somewhere beneath the table he was lying on, face down.

When he managed to lift his heavy head and look down at what he was lying on, he saw it was a black leather bench, like a doctor’s examination table but more narrow. It wasn’t comfortable at all, which was probably why he was so sore. Or, part of why he was so sore.

His legs were bound too. He couldn’t move them at all, whereas at least he could jiggle his hands a little against the restraints. He tried to pull, pull as hard as he could, with the knowledge that he was stronger than most in the back of his mind providing him with the reminder that he _should_ have been able to break free easily. But his head was fuzzy, and things seemed to move slower than they should have, and he knew, now, that he’d been drugged for sure.

Before he could try and grasp why, a man stepped into his line of sight, and crouched down in front of him. It was Tony.

“Hi bud,” he said, casually, as if Peter had just walked into the workshop and they were about to continue on one of their ongoing projects.

The panic was slow to set in, but now that his suspicions had been confirmed, it was coming alright. Tony wasn’t going to help him. If Tony wasn’t the cause of his passing out earlier, then he was an accessory, involved in one way or another.

Whatever was the case, he looked smug, and not at all like he was there to let Peter go.

“Wh…” Peter slurred, licking a dry tongue over even drier lips in an attempt at getting himself ready to speak. Tony interrupted him before he could make a second attempt.

“What happened? I think you know what happened, Pete. You’re smart enough. Or did you want to ask why? Or why me? I can answer those for you.” Tony smiled again, and stood, disappearing out of his line of sight again. Peter could follow the sound of his footsteps though, and realized the man was rounding whatever examination table he was stretched over, to go and stand between his spread legs.

And suddenly, it dawned on Peter that he was entirely naked, when he felt a soft huff of breath across the inside of his thigh as Tony spoke.

“I was curious,” he said, “I’ve seen you do some incredible things with those abilities of yours, but a couple of my questions are yet unanswered. Now, I know what you’re thinking. I could have just asked, right?”

Tony’s hand landed on the back of Peter’s thigh, and Peter shuddered, dropping his head until his chin rested against the edge of the leather bench.

“I considered asking. I kind of figured you’d say no, though. And the most excruciating thing about curiosity is that I can tell myself no is no, but that doesn’t mean that interest goes away. And you know I’ve always been a nosy person.”

Peter whimpered when he felt another puff of air cross his skin when Tony chuckled at himself. This time, he could feel it in areas he hadn’t noticed were exposed, previously. Not _that_ exposed, anyway.

He realized where the dull aches were coming from. He figured out why he was spread out the way he was, legs apart until he almost lay in a complete split, his cock trapped beneath him against the cool leather, and his hole open for Tony to…

To what?

“We’ve done all the tests on you that you’d let me do, and I appreciate that. Your resilience is astounding, and your endurance is impressive, and you heal so quickly, and now I can’t help but wonder… How much can you really take?”

Something cold and slick pressed against Peter’s exposed hole, and he shivered, muscles tensing up to fend off the inevitable – but the intrusion was imminent. Luckily for Peter, the first object felt small, and it went in with surprising ease, pressing in until Peter felt like it couldn’t possibly go any further. His breathing came quickly, his body still trying to fight against what was happening.

Tony put a considerably gentle hand on the small of his back, but when his fingers curled around his hip Peter realized it wasn’t to comfort him – it was to use as leverage, to push whatever object he was forcing into him, further inside him.

The cold spread through Peter’s stomach, the odd shape of it uncomfortable against his inner walls, but there was nothing he could do.

“N-no,” he tried to protest, but his tongue still lay heavy in his mouth, and the words came out slurred and weak, and unconvincing.

When Tony made a satisfied sound, and Peter could feel his hole closing up again around the object now inside of him, things eased up for a moment. Peter could feel how heavy the object was, weighing him down against the bench beneath him.

“There,” Tony sighed, and sounded pleased, “That took a little while, but you’re taking that wrench like you’re made for it, Pete.”

Peter choked on nothing at the thought of a wrench, inside of him, being the thing that weighed so heavily against the skin of his belly. He tried to squirm again, but it only moved the object inside of him, forcing a distressed noise up his throat and out of his mouth.

“What?” Tony said in reply, “You don’t think I’ve had you unconscious and at my disposal for two hours and _didn’t_ take it to my advantage? Peter… You don’t know me at all, do you?”

It sounded so taunting and so sincere that Peter couldn’t help but think that he really didn’t. he really didn’t know Mr. Stark at all. Never in a million years could he have anticipated that this was something he’d be capable of. He thought that they had something! He thought they had something good.

Peter couldn’t even wipe at his eyes when the tears started to fall. Luckily, from where Tony was standing, he couldn’t see how this was affecting Peter. Peter felt like he had to get some kind of satisfaction out of this, if he could just do it without Peter’s consent and without even asking him first, so cruel and merciless, so he wouldn’t give him that gratification.

“You’re doing great so far. I’m gonna go with the second wrench now, okay?”

Second wrench?

But Peter couldn’t even begin to protest before Tony already had the object lined up. Peter couldn’t see, but he assumed he must have had a table or something beside him, with objects lined nearly on top, ready to be used on him. The thought made Peter shiver.

The second object went in about as easily as the first, with a bit of wiggling and a bit of pushing, until Peter could feel the two wrenches clink together inside of him, the sound that it made almost sickening. He wished he didn’t have to listen to it. He wished he could shut off his sensations, but all he could do was close his eyes and hope for the best – but that wasn’t going to help.

The objects slid together every time he moved, so Peter tried to stay as still as he could to avoid feeling the vibrations and risk actually getting sick. He wasn’t quite there yet, but with how much more panicked he was growing by the second when that fog in his brain just wouldn’t ease up, he wasn’t far off.

The fog was the worst part. He was panicking, but couldn’t express it very well, and it felt like it was all internalized that much more because of just how sluggish he felt as a result of the drugs Tony had fed him.

Peter wondered, for a moment, if that had been the only time Tony had tried something on him, or if he’d done it before. Maybe he had, and Peter just couldn’t remember. That thought put a lump in his throat, and he sniffled quietly.

He’d trusted him. He’d trusted him with his life, with all of his secrets, with his own, undying love and appreciation for him, and now…

Peter sobbed when Tony pushed another object into him without prompting.

He could feel himself stretch, not only his hole but his insides, molding around everything Tony was making him take.

Again, the metallic sound of objects sliding together sounded hollow from within him, and Peter tensed up. His belly felt so heavy now. Almost unbearably so. But he didn’t think that they were anywhere near done yet.

And he was absolutely right. God knows how many objects followed, some heavier than others, and all clearly taken right out of the workshop judging by the shapes and sizes and materials alone. Peter tried his best to focus on other things, ignore the disbelief and betrayal that he felt and shrug his shoulders at any pain all of the intrusion might have caused, thinking instead of whatever else he could find to think of. Sometimes he just tried his best to guess what the next item being forced into him was based on shape, size and material. At least it managed to distract him somewhat of the horrors of what was being done to him.

When Peter’s belly had been filled to Tony’s satisfaction, the man took a step back. Peter heard him retreat for a moment. He hadn’t spoken much to Peter anymore after explaining what he was doing initially, and Peter hadn’t pleaded much. Even if he started feeling like he could speak again somewhere halfway through, the air was perpetually knocked out of his lungs with the way he was feeling, both physically and emotionally, and so to avoid loudly sobbing, he just kept his mouth shut.

The piece de resistance had yet to come though.

Tony had teased Peter about it. He’d said that he would like the last object he wanted to try out and see if Peter could handle it, that he’d enjoy the sentimentality behind it, too.

When the older man dipped into his line of sight again and ran a hand through his hair, Peter sniffled pathetically. Tony held his head up by his hair so that he could make the boy look at what he was holding. Red, gold, shiny. A gadget that had brought comfort to Peter so many times before, was a beacon of hope for many including him, and was supposed to be a symbol of peace and protection.

But that’s not what Tony was going to use it for.

“Let’s see how well you can take that,” Tony purred, and he took the Iron Man gauntlet with him when he rounded the suspended boy once more.

“Please,” Peter pleaded weakly, exhausted from the ongoing abuse, “No more. No more. I can’t—”

“Yes you can,” Tony said sharply, “You’ve already taken so much. I know you’re full, Pete, but I don’t think you’ve had enough just yet.”

Peter could cry all he wanted, but still he could hear the hiss of the material molding itself to Tony’s hand as he put it on, and moments later there was that stomach-turning feeling of cool metal against his undoubtedly red-rimmed, sore, abused hole, stretching him to his absolute limit just with a few fingers alone.

Not that Tony was satisfied with that. He knew what he wanted, and he was going to get it – whatever the cost, it seemed.

He pushed, and pushed, and Peter felt like his skin was tearing around the red and gold, catching on the metal edges of the armor. Once more, Tony’s free hand was on his hip, and he was pushing, and pushing, so hard that the restraints around Peter’s ankles cut sharply into his skin.

Peter howled, cried, struggled as best as he could, but there was nowhere he could go.

“Stop!” He wailed, unable to catch his breath any longer, “Please! Stop!”

Tony didn’t stop.

He cursed under his breath, and pushed a little harder still, all fingers tucked together to force Peter’s hole past its limits.

And when he finally stretched around the biggest part of the gauntlet, and Tony groaned as Peter’s body swallowed up the remainder of the hand to join the rest of the bulk of objects deep inside Peter’s overstretched innards, Peter could no longer breathe.

An excruciating pain overwhelmed him as it travelled through virtually every one of his nerves, and he promptly lost consciousness once again.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Last chapter lads. I'm sorry to say it's (almost) over. This one fills the prompt "body modification". Have fun wink wink

Peter knew by now that he was living some kind of nightmare.

When he woke up again, he felt blissfully empty at least, no more objects rolling inside of him, shifting every time he did and stretching him in all the wrong places.

He felt sore, and confused, and betrayed, but he was a lot more comfortable on his back in a leather chair, even though his arms and legs were bound to the chair itself, and it was leaned back almost in a way that was reminiscent of the dentist.

After this, Peter felt like he’d never have to be scared of the dentist again.

If he survived this, whatever was yet to come (and there was something yet to come, or Tony would have set him free already – right?), then he would never have to be afraid of anything ever again.

Anything but Mr. Stark. Anyone but the man he loved. Had loved. Did love.

Peter looked around and was glad to see that he appeared to be alone. It gave him a moment to recuperate and gather his thoughts.

He was exhausted, and his backside felt like it was on fire, sitting uncomfortably on the leather of the chair. He was still naked, which also didn’t promise anything good. What Tony could possibly want from him in this position, he didn’t know, but he didn’t think he wanted to know.

Peter tried, once again, to struggle against his restraints, but found it futile. He had no idea how much time had passed since Tony had handed him that ‘mint’ back while they were tinkering together, but surely the effects of that pill he’d given him should have worn off by now. Unless Tony had given him something else while he was out…

At that moment, Tony wandered into the room, dressed as if he’d been working with his soldering iron, with a leather apron streaked with smears of ash protecting his clothes, the sleeves of his black shirt rolled up, protective gloves on, and safety goggles in his hair.

At least he wasn’t holding the soldering iron. Peter still tensed up when he saw him, though.

He hated the reaction, so contradictory to how he was used to reacting to Tony. He didn’t _want_ to be scared of him. He didn’t want to have a reason to be scared of him. And yet here they were, with Peter’s heart beating faster and his arms struggling against the strong grip holding him down in the chair.

Tony took off the gloves, and sat down on a stool, slapping the gloves onto his thigh and leaving them there while he leaned forward to rest his elbows against his knees and look up at Peter. His expression was pleasant. Peter didn’t like it, and wouldn’t let it lull him into a false sense of security.

Whatever trust had been there before, it was well and truly gone now – even though Peter was still holding onto a little shred of hope.

“One more thing,” Tony said lowly. Immediately, that last bit of hope dissipated. A smile slowly crept up the other man’s face, curling the corners of his mouth up menacingly. Bile rose in Peter’s throat, and he had to look away, heart pounding.

“I think you’ll actually like this one, Pete. The result, anyway.”

It felt like a promise, and Tony sounded sincere, but Peter knew better now. Unless Tony brought out a puppy and apologized and held him close and pet his hair in the next ten seconds, and unless Peter subsequently woke up from this nightmare another ten seconds after that, then there was no way he’d ever be able to like Tony, or anything involving Tony, ever again.

When Peter gave no response and kept looking away, Tony sighed and stood again, putting his gloves back on and his safety goggles back on his nose.

“Alright,” he said, “It’s going to happen with or without your approval, kiddo. I’ll be right back.”

Tony disappeared again, and in the first level-headed moment Peter experienced since he first woke up from being drugged, he called for FRIDAY toward the ceiling. But cold dread settled in his stomach when no reply came, and Tony returned only a moment later, tutting.

“She can’t hear you. No one can, kid. She’s not operating in the workshop at the moment. You don’t think I’m stupid, do you?” he frowned at Peter. Peter blinked, and shook his head, not knowing what else to do.

Then his focus shifted to what Tony was holding. In one hand, there was a blowtorch. In the other, a pair of long, cast iron tongs. Tony grinned at Peter’s confused look, and reached with the end of the tongs to pick up an object from a nearby table that Peter thought must have been the table Tony had put all of his makeshift toys on.

This time, he picked up a familiar looking circle, made out of thin but sturdy metal. When Tony turned on the blowtorch, Peter’s confused expression made place for one of horrified understanding.

“No,” he protested, and struggled in the chair, pulling with every ounce of weakened strength he had at the bindings keeping him down, wishing to break them but being unable to, “No! No please. Please, Mr. Stark, I don’t—You don’t have to do that. You don’t have to do that, really, I—I will do anything, but not—”

Tony gave him a sharp look, and Peter’s eyes welled up again.

Why was Mr. Stark doing this? And why to him?

“I just want to see how quickly you heal this up, Pete. And besides, at least I picked out something pretty for you.”

He directed the blue flame from the torch to the symbol held between the tweezers, until the metal turned orange with heat. Tony stepped closer, and Peter struggled harder, fat tears rolling down his cheeks in panic.

He was still pleading, but even his most desperate begging didn’t stop Tony.

Peter could feel the heat of the iron long before it touched the tender skin of his inner thigh.

He screamed when it finally did, thrashed as it seared the familiar design into his flesh. It sizzled loudly, but not louder than Peter’s wails. He cried until his voice was hoarse, until the air surrounding him smelled of roasted flesh, and Tony had already taken the hot iron away before his skin stuck to it too badly.

Peter was teetering on the edge of consciousness again, wave after wave of harrowing, agonizing burning making his skin feel the way it looked – mutilated, burned, charred, smoldering in the aftermath of the extreme heat.

Tony put the his tools away, and stood by Peter’s side, combing a hand through his hair until the boy exhausted himself and sank wordlessly into the chair. His face was pinched and his body wracked with his ongoing sobs, but Tony sounded cheerful.

“Doesn’t it look stunning?” the man said, sounding genuinely awed, “I think I picked the right image. Now you’ll get to carry me with you everywhere you go, for as long as it takes to heal up. Just like you always wanted.”

Peter peered down at his own blistering flesh, breath hitching on another cry. He wasn’t conscious for much longer after that. At least the next time he woke up, he was no longer in chains. But the nightmare had not ended yet.

Although the brand would heal over time, Peter and Tony eventually found out that one thing remained;

Peter would always carry around his own arc reactor, scarred up on his inner left thigh, reminding him to never trust another person to the extent that he had always trusted Anthony Edward Stark.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯

**Author's Note:**

> [Come find me on tumblr :)](https://iloveyou3thousand.tumblr.com/)


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